The only thing that could earn Chen Xing’s trust were robots. Before robots developed their own consciousness, they only followed commands. The only reason they wouldn’t come was either that they had already been completely wiped out—or they had received a different order.
From the moment Ji Chenxi managed to mess with Xiao San’er and make him strike from behind, he had already considered the possibility that the other side could also remotely control his other robots.
As it turned out, even if they couldn’t directly take control, they could still issue commands completely opposite to his original ones. As for why they didn’t just have his robots turn on him together, it was simply because they were afraid he might regain control—careful, extremely cautious.
This was exactly why Chen Xing was so fixated on SSS-level beings. Just one or two tiers apart, yet they held such overwhelming natural advantages.
“Then you should be glad I’m a modified human and not a robot. Otherwise, I’d be the first one to turn my blade on you.”
The moon was already sinking. Night pressed down heavily.
The first wave of pursuers had already caught up. They were highly skilled—first wearing down their starship’s energy with all kinds of artillery fire, then toying with their nerves like a cat playing with a mouse. Sometimes they came closer, sometimes they stayed just out of reach, always hovering at a distance that kept them on edge.
Explosions kept slamming into the ship. The people beside Chen Xing were already growing restless from the tactic, as if a sharp blade was pressed against their throat—coldness spreading over their skin, danger possibly arriving in the very next second, yet there was no way to escape it.
Compared to them, Chen Xing was calm to the point of being almost indifferent. Even under constant danger, in this psychological tug-of-war, he stayed in control, smoothly maneuvering the starship through evasive routes.
“Hey, Chen Xing… are we doomed?” the modified human asked.
“If you talk less nonsense, maybe there’s still a sliver of hope.”
Saying there was “a sliver of hope” now was basically just comforting words—but the man still seemed in a decent mood.
“Let me off. My whole body’s basically a walking weapons depot. I can hold them off for you. If I’m not mistaken, that guy’s from Chi Zhuo’s side—Hua Yao, right? Our Cocoon organization has taken plenty of losses from him. Time to settle the score.”
Chen Xing fell silent for a moment before coldly saying, “Don’t go.”
“Huh? Don’t tell me you can’t bear to lose me.”
“It’s him who killed Ge You. Do you think you’re stronger than Ge You?”
“I can’t beat him one-on-one, sure. But I said it—I’m a walking weapons depot now. I’ll fight him with weapons. Chen Xing, you threw away second and third so casually, so I’m no different from them, right? Acting like this… I’d almost think I’m special.”
This time Chen Xing didn’t respond for a long while.
He didn’t like weaknesses, and he didn’t like “special” existences around him. To him, everyone was just a chess piece. This person wasn’t actually anything special either—but still, he finally said, “You’re the real leader of Cocoon. If you die, I’ll have to manage the organization myself. You know I don’t like being bothered with chores that interfere with my work.”
“Alright, alright. Since you put it like that, I’ll just try to keep both of us alive then.”
Hua Yao was not someone easy to deal with. His methods were ruthless. If not for Chi Zhuo’s life-saving grace and mentorship, a person like him would never willingly serve under anyone.
This starship wouldn’t last much longer. Chen Xing didn’t call in any more robots. Instead, he summoned bio-made humans and began searching for a chance to abandon the ship.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
Hua Yao was already calculating their energy consumption. Capturing Chen Xing wasn’t hard. On top of that, this pursuit wasn’t just his—there was also that member of the Gu family.
Gu Hechuan was the heir already chosen by the Gu family. Strong, capable, and commanding an equally formidable fleet.
With Chen Xing’s robot army gone, he was nothing more than a turtle trapped in a jar. The tide had already turned.
But Chen Xing had far more than just robots.
He also had a number of bio-engineered humans. Ugly as they were, they were extremely effective fighters.
Chen Xing chose the perfect moment. There were only ten seconds left before the starship’s self-destruction countdown hit zero. In that instant, he and another person leapt out of the ship. At the same time, the ship switched to autopilot and charged straight toward the pursuing fleet behind them.
A massive explosion followed.
In that brilliant blast of light, Chen Xing and the modified human were caught and retrieved by the bio-humans.
They came in all forms—some had bird wings but human heads, others looked almost entirely like fish but still retained human arms and legs. Many had pus-filled growths and rotting flesh from failed fusions. Together, they looked like a carnival of monsters and demons.
Gu Hechuan had only pursued Chen Xing because he was dangerous—an unstable variable that could become a major threat if allowed to escape. He knew Chen Xing was a researcher, after all that was his profession.
But he never expected what the man had actually been researching.
A wave of nausea hit him.
A hand suddenly grabbed his wrist and tightened.
“Hechuan.”
The usually frivolous, sweet voice carried a different weight when spoken seriously.
“He’s dangerous,” Gu Hechuan frowned. “Lu Tu, you shouldn’t have held back in the palace back then.”
Lu Tu had spent a lot of time with Gu Hechuan over the years, so he knew his little tricks had already been seen through. He lowered his gaze, his peach-blossom eyes soft and pitiful.
“I know he’s dangerous… but the people he experimented on weren’t good either. Even if they ended up like this, it’s not really a big deal, right?”
Gu Hechuan didn’t agree, but he also didn’t argue further.
He instead tightened his grip on Lu Tu’s hand and looked at him seriously.
“I know your sense of right and wrong is different from mine. But no matter how guilty they were, there are laws to judge them. They shouldn’t be turned into this—forced to live like neither human nor ghost.”
“Maybe,” Lu Tu paused slightly, then said something cruelly honest, “they’re not even human anymore. Though… maybe a few still have human consciousness left.”
Gu Hechuan’s brows furrowed even tighter. He was about to say more when Lu Tu raised both hands in surrender.
“Alright, alright, I was wrong. Next time I’ll never take sides for my friends in situations like this.”
For them, it was just a small interlude.
At the same time, when Chen Xing was dropped off by the bio-human army, Hua Yao immediately ordered relentless artillery strikes specifically targeting Cocoon.
No one on the starships came down—they all stayed airborne, bombarding the area in an attempt to kill Chen Xing, a mere flesh-and-blood human, from afar. They didn’t descend not because they didn’t care, but because Bai Han had repeatedly warned them not to engage Chen Xing in close combat.
Chen Xing’s spiritual entity was not something to mess with. One bite from it could allow him to control others.
For someone of SSS-level spiritual strength like Chen Xing, artillery alone wasn’t fatal—especially not with the modified human beside him, whose entire body was weaponized. He raised defenses strong enough to block every attack aimed at Chen Xing, while also opening his own chest to fire devastating counterattacks at the enemy fleet above.
During Chen Xing’s retreat, countless bio-humans were blasted into pieces. One massive creature with endless tentacles absorbed the fragments, growing stronger and stronger, its extended limbs nearly knocking down the hovering starships.
A strange balance formed. Chen Xing only needed one opportunity to escape.
Lu Tu had been watching with interest, curious to see what other tricks Chen Xing still had. Then suddenly, he noticed something and shouted sharply, “Retreat!”
The giant tentacle monster had absorbed too many fragments and swelled to the size of a small mountain. The moment Lütu shouted, Gu Hechuan instantly retreated without hesitation. Not even two seconds later, the monster exploded.
It spread in all directions.
Anything touched by its fragments began dissolving rapidly. Several starships were hit and crashed down—once they hit the ground, they were basically doomed, quickly dissolved by even more fragments below.
Hua Yao retreated just as fast as Gu Hechuan. The moment he ordered withdrawal, the accident occurred.
His expression darkened instantly. There would be no more prisoners taken alive.
People like this should just die.
Chen Xing didn’t care about the bio-humans’ survival. He moved quickly. Not far from here, he had another base. If he could activate what was stored there, he could regain control of his robot army from Ji Chenxi—and also find a starship to escape from the Imperial Star and regroup.
His steps were hurried.
The modified human beside him was shielding him from the earlier explosion. His defensive energy was nearly depleted, and several hits had already been blocked with his own body.
His body was dissolving under that strange force. A faint purple mist lingered in the air—it also had corrosive properties. The pursuing starships wouldn’t dare approach for now.
The modified human shifted his broken body slightly. Parts of his internal mechanical structure were already visible.
Carefully shielding Chen Xing from the corrosive mist, he spoke with the same lack of respect as before.
“You knew that octopus would explode, didn’t you?”
Chen Xing gave a low “mm.”
A voice seemed to whisper inside him: you see? He knew all along. He stopped you from going down earlier, stopped you from interfering, just to use you now. Using bio-humans to block corrosion—he’s just making sure he stays clean.
Mechanical parts sparked faintly in his damaged body.
As Chen Xing kept walking forward, all the remaining firepower from the modified human suddenly turned on him.
No warning. No hesitation. Pure killing intent.
Chen Xing turned back in shock—and was met with a storm of incoming missiles and bullets.
“You—!”
He seemed about to question something—why, when I was still planning to recharge your weapon systems—but in the next moment, he said nothing at all.
It all felt pointless.
He didn’t value friends. He didn’t value the robots who had been with him for years.
So what was there to be angry about when betrayal came?
Even the reason didn’t seem important anymore.
Chen Xing didn’t dodge.
He let the overwhelming firepower crash into him.
On the other side, Ji Chenxi suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood. His spiritual sea was in chaos, nearly going out of control.
Chi Zhuo quickly caught him, wiping away the blood at the corner of his mouth, forcibly and gently stabilizing the storming spiritual sea.
For a split second, besides heartache, Chi Zhuo even felt a trace of anger.
“Your Highness…”
“Mm?” Ji Chenxi’s face was pale, fragile in a way he had never shown before.
The words of blame reached Chi Zhuo’s lips—but in the end, what came out was only:
“…Does it still hurt?”
Hello, everyone ヾ(＾∇＾). I hope you enjoyed the story! If you’re feeling generous, please buy me a coffee, share/comment on my translated works! Check out the link below for early chapters. (๑>ᴗ<๑)
